


uncertainty

by princevector



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Craig of the Dead, M/M, Not much but a warning, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princevector/pseuds/princevector
Summary: “Does it hurt a lot?”Craig shrugs. “Not any more so than when I got my braces.”





	uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

> based on tuckerenthusiast's Craig of the Dead AU on Tumblr! you can view it here ! 
> 
> https://tuckerenthusiast.tumblr.com/tagged/craig-of-the-dead
> 
> psa I've never written a zombie au before but I wanted to give it a try!

Hours have passed and there wasn’t any changes in movement. _Strange_ , Craig notes, ever the analytical and logical type. _There hasn’t been this much silence in days—no, weeks, and that’s definitely not normal_. So naturally, he’s on his toes more than ever. Whether it has to be for hours or days, Craig refuses to settle down even for a second.

The room they’re trapped in feels tense. Craig, still standing by the door, gives a once-over to the others in the room. His friends, all of them found over the past weeks, are all in their own anxious states. Of course, anxiety manifests differently for all of them, but Craig can feel the anxiety creeping through the room, its unrelenting grip not letting up for a moment. His own anxiety can only be described as suffocating but tolerable—tolerable only because he’s gotta remain his calm, logical self for the sake of his friends—and boyfriend.

Tweek, who is the most anxious of them all, yelps even at the slightest sound of the walls creaking. _It’s just the wind, babe,_ Craig has to remind him, gently rubbing his back and slowly easing him back into a mostly calmer state. Of course, that’s short-lived, as Tweek truly is a naturally anxious individual. Still, even for him, he’s managed to hold himself mostly well against the undead, especially the last few days. Craig vividly remembers his boyfriend grabbing his spiked bat and ferociously bashing the head in of a stray coming a little too close to their hideout.

Craig smiles to himself. _Okay, that was kind of hot._

Needless to say, he was proud of everyone in their group, even if he didn’t like everyone. Stan and Kyle helped with strategizing, Kyle being incredibly insightful when he’s calm, and Stan helping out with reasoning. Sure, they’re assholes in their own rights, but they wanna find their families and friends all the same. So for now, Craig considers them decent, at best.

Jimmy knows how to brighten the atmosphere, through his jokes and medical training. Though his healing methods were still second to Tweek’s, the group would take any support they could get. Plus, Craig rather liked his jokes, so he absolutely stayed. The same applied to Clyde and Token, too. Though Clyde would occasionally cry, despairing over their situation and apologizing to his mother in heaven. Craig, though not the best at it, still tried his best to encourage his friend, though it was mainly Token who handled the emotional turmoil better. Their roles in combat were vital, as well as their overall presence.

So Craig liked having people around sometimes. Obviously this was a situation where the more the merrier, but perhaps he’s grown a bit comfortable being in a group—even if he can’t remain comfortable when there’s actual bloodthirsty zombies roaming the streets of South Park—and quite possibly elsewhere. _Still…_ his grip on the spiked bat tightens. _This doesn’t feel right, even for a situation like—_

“Craig, outside!”

It’s Stan, who was keeping an eye outside from the other side of the room. Craig only needs a brief glance at the other’s sweat-covered face to know what’s going on.

“More? How many?”

“I think—maybe half a dozen? They’re big ones too!”

Craig grits his teeth, pushing himself off the door and marching over to Tweek, who’s currently doing his best not to shake. The twitching is quite visible, but his expression remains hardened. He picks up his axe, nodding subtly. “Y—Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Clyde sits up, hockey stick at the ready. “I’ll go too—“

Craig shakes his head, firmly rejecting the request but briefly mentions that he’ll signal if help is needed. Giving one last tug at his cap, he grabs Tweek’s free hand and together they rush out the now open door.

* * *

He’s grown accustomed to the sound of skulls being shattered against his weapon. At first it was purely nauseating—it still was—but now there was an instinctual thrill about making the undead well, dead again. Not that he’d openly admit that killing zombies was fun, but he didn’t need to. After all, Tweek could see and feel Craig’s excitement through his expressions and actions. In combat, the blond was certainly the stronger of the two, more physically trained through years of kickboxing and overall self-training. Craig liked to, as he put it, “Punch things.” Their fighting styles not only suited themselves, but each other. Their compatibility was why they were often sent out together as a pair.

_Like a power couple_ , they’d roll their eyes at the statement but eventually laugh over the remark, even during the midst of combat.

“Tweek, right behind you—!” Craig growls, attempting to shove his way through, but Tweek is faster, aiming a well—placed swing right at the zombie’s skull. The impact shatters the skull, they can both hear it, with blood quickly forming and oozing at the wound. When they both started fighting zombies, they initially thought there’d be more blood splatters, like in those B movies. Much to their disappointment—and to Tweek’s delight—that was not the case. Still, it was far from a clean and painless process.

“Protect each other—“ Tweek pauses, breathing in sharply, then exhaling. It’s a technique he learned to steady himself, polishing it over the years. It only lasts a few seconds, and when he’s finished, his expression relaxes to form a slight but toothy grin. “Right?”

Craig nods, using his free hand to pull the tattered scarf over his face more. There’s a noxious smell in the air, he assumes from the now slowly decaying corpses surrounding them. He’s not sure how Tweek tolerates it, but then again he was once inhaling the scent of coffee on a daily basis, so perhaps he’s grown immune to nearly any smell. Scary.

“Doin’ alright?” It’s a question more directed towards the other’s mental state than physical state, since Craig can’t spot any visual wounds on his boyfriend. Well, hopefully he’s doing physical well on the inside, but in any case it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Y—Yeah, I’m fine!” His nervous gaze glances over Craig’s body, most likely checking for wounds. Since Tweek doesn’t pause, he assumes that he’s fine. “You’ve—You’ve got blood on your pants though! Oh God, you’re not hurt anywhere, are you?! Take off your pants, I gotta see—!”

“What? No!” He glances downwards at his leg. There’s not a lot of blood, but it must’ve been when he slipped up the other day and banged himself up pretty badly. The memory is foggy, but Craig thinks it was when they were rushing up several flights of stairs, escaping capture from an entirely different group of strays… ones he assumed were under Cartman’s control. Ugh.

Tweek obviously doesn’t look convinced. Craig sighs, reaching for his free hand, skin fiery hot and chapped. Definitely through its own wear and tear.

“I’m not gonna die. Look, it was from the other day, remember? You can look it over when we get back just—“

“Does it hurt a lot?”

Craig shrugs. “Not any more so than when I got my braces.”

Tweek rolls his eyes, but there’s no harm behind it, as indicated by a gentle giggle. “Mr. Tough Guy, are we?”

“Shut up,” Craig mumbles, as they start their return back to base.

“Hey, Craig?” His voice is soft, almost too calm for Tweek.

“Hm?”

“Are we—Are we gonna be alright?”

There’s silence for several long moments, even more unsettling than the lack of zombies from before. The only sounds heard were their footsteps as they marched up the stairs, briefly stopping before the door to headquarters. Craig sighs, giving Tweek’s hand a squeeze. It was meant to be reassuring, but even he’s not so sure of himself.

“…I sure hope so, babe. I sure hope so.”


End file.
